


The Guest 2

by BummedOutWriter



Series: The Guest [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Professors, Kid Fic, M/M, Professor Draco Malfoy, Seer Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 08:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14912154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BummedOutWriter/pseuds/BummedOutWriter
Summary: Sequel to The Guest. After getting bored with Quidditch, Draco takes a post as a Hogwarts professor.





	The Guest 2

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Gość II](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15174950) by [Glenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glenka/pseuds/Glenka)



“Well this is…erm…” Draco flipped through Daisy Dursley’s divination assignment. “You predict that you’ll be cannibalized by Nott by the year’s end?”

“Oh dear,” said Elara Nott as Dursley sent her a scathing look.

Draco restrained himself from vanishing Daisy’s assignment altogether. His students’ predictions were consistently bad, and he couldn’t blame them. Draco was a seer, and even _he_ couldn’t make sense of the divination curriculum at Hogwarts. Sight was too rare a gift to justify a whole class being dedicated to it.

At thirty-four, Draco had grown weary of the monotony of Quidditch and had decided to become a teacher. He had applied for the Potions position—and would have even settled for Quidditch instructor—but McGonagall had deemed him to be more valuable to her as the Divination professor. 

As he scarcely knew what the hell he was doing, Draco found the whole thing to be pointless. Tea leaves never ceased looking like soggy pieces of foliage, and he could only prognosticate cloud coverage from crystal balls even on the clearest of days.

So for the most part, he winged it. “Emotional changes can be a potent catalyst to visions,” he said cagily, in what he hoped was a knowledgeable way.

Richard Wood raised his broom-calloused hand. “What kind of emotional changes?”

"None of your damn business!" Draco snarled.

The room fell into silence, the students gaping at him in shock.

“Erm, I mean…” Draco cleared his throat. This was getting far too close to personal for his liking. “…changes, of the…emotional variety,” he said unhelpfully, then pulled a face. "Sometimes—eugh—romantic feelings. Sometimes simply conditions that alter your emotional state or hormones. Environmental factors can serve as triggers. People, places—anything that has meaning to the individual.”

The students were goggling him, as though they couldn’t believe his claim of having emotions. But they recovered quickly, a bronzed hand shooting into the air.

Draco nodded. “Yes?”

“Why did you quit the Cannons?” Rose Weasley practically demanded.

“Are you really married to Harry Potter?” another student piped in dubiously.

“What do you do when you get gobstones stuck up your butt?” asked Vincent Goyle.

“Class dismissed!” Draco cut them off.

The students shut their mouths.

“Professor.” Weasley raised her hand again. “There are forty minutes left for this class—”

“Dismissed!” Draco screeched, causing them all to gather their things and scurry for the ladder that would lead them to the lower floor. In their haste, some of them tumbled down the ladder rungs, but Draco was too irritated to care. He slammed the trap door shut on Pranav Patil’s fingers, before heaving a sigh, and returning to his desk.

Draco poured himself some tea and drained the cup. He ignored the leaves at the bottom, which, for some reason, looked rather phallic in his periphery. He rubbed his temples. Teaching those brats was a lot of damn work. Draco tapped his foot impatiently. He poured himself another cup of tea. He directed his eyes to the crystal ball on the right side of his desk, and tried to focus, after which he predicted that he would perhaps stub his toe in the near future.

Draco sighed again.

It was useless. His efforts to distract himself were just making him more anxious. He hadn’t seen Harry in _months_ , and the auror in question would be arriving within the hour to serve as guest lecturer for today’s seventh-year Defense Against the Dark Arts classes.

Draco lifted his face from the crystal ball as the bell rang. He lowered his third cup of tea, and stood calmly, smoothing down his robes as he did.

When he entered the Great Hall, Rita Skeeter was gazing at him rapturously, as though she expected him to burst into some tangible controversy that she could save for her memoir. The bint had taken over the History of Magic post, when Binns had realized he was dead after some gentle prodding from an officious Ravenclaw. The antiquated ghost had moved on from limbo in an obnoxiously majestic way—sparkles and everything. Nowadays History of Magic students were learning about Minister Granger-Weasley’s escapades with amorous vampires, and Tom Riddle’s little-known career as a liturgical dancer.

Draco sat at his usual spot behind the head table, rather glum that Harry was still not there. Stragglers continued to scuttle into the Great Hall, most students already digging into their lunches. The new Hufflepuff Ghost—Fenrir Greyback—was growling menacingly at students. He attempted to maul a first-year, who merely shuddered, and edged away from the rabidly undead mascot.

On the opposite side of the table sat Quidditch instructor Aidan Lynch, who blinked slowly, one eye at a time. He attempted to spear some potatoes with his fork, but missed by several inches. Draco shuddered, and looked away.

Flitwick was so aged and animated, Draco suspected he was a marionette. Draco averted his eyes and did his best to ignore the tenaciously-alive Charms professor, who was talking to Draco enthusiastically while waving around his tiny little arms.

And then Draco’s eyes fluttered.

_“I missed you,” said Harry, grinning. He squeezed his hand under the table._

Blinking away the vision, Draco glanced at the double doors, just as they burst open, and Harry entered the room.

The students seemed to progressively become aware of the brunette, quieting down, falling into murmurs, and craning their necks to catch sight of the lightening-scarred wizard.

Harry’s eyes darted over the house tables, and his brows furrowed in slight disappointment. He directed his gaze to the teachers table, and his face brightened. He walked over, navigating his way behind the chairs, throwing hasty greetings and shaking hands. “Prof—Minerva, good to see you again.” Harry cupped her hand with both of his and gave her a meaningful look.

Finally, Harry reached the empty seat beside Draco. It was usually reserved for Goyle, but the meaty man had known better that day, and was instead taking his lunch in a broom cupboard on the fourth floor.

Harry sat down and murmured, “I missed you.” He beamed as he found Draco’s hand under the table and gave it a squeeze.

He leaned over and caught Draco in a sloppy kiss, ignoring as students gasped, girls fidgeted, boys gawked, and McGonagall aggressively cleared her throat.

Finally Harry pulled away. He seemed amused that Draco’s face remained impassive. “Where are the kids?” Harry asked.

“Who cares?”

“Draco!” he reproved.

Draco sighed. “Honestly, Harry. We’re not their parents when we’re here. We’re their _professors_. We surely didn't have babysitters when we were at Hogwarts. Do you know how uncomfortable that would have been?”

Harry grimaced, and Draco felt an iota of regret, because perhaps Harry _couldn’t_ relate to that scenario as well as Draco could. “So you just ignore them?” said Harry delicately.

“Pretty much,” Draco responded shamelessly.

Harry threw him a nasty look, and Draco decided to change the subject.

“How's Sirius?” His voice was nonchalant.

Harry glared daggers at the blatant display of hypocrisy. But then he deflated. “Good. He sends his love.”

Draco hummed and turned to his food, trying not to look as disappointed as he felt. It was against Hogwarts policy to bring underage children into the fold. Too dangerous, or some such nonsense.

Smiling slightly, Harry reached into his pocket and withdrew his muggle communication device. “He sent a message for you. I cast a ward for the interference. It should work for a bit.” He pressed a button, and held it out to Draco, who slowly took it.

Sirius stood in the tiny screen, though it wasn’t him. It was—what Harry would call—a reckording.

“Hi father,” the seven-year-old mumbled, his short black hair parted to the side. “I really miss you.” Sirius bit his lip, seeming embarrassed. He glanced off and clasped his hands together, fidgeting somewhat. “Umm…but not to worry. I'm doing quite well. Dad feeds me and everything. And…er…I'm learning lots. Maths and stuff. Anyway, um, I hope Teddy is behaving admiramably. And that Molly is r-raining in her inclanations towards misbehavior. I appreciate the wizard chess set you sent. I find the rooks are actually quite—”

Draco gave an exaggerated yawn.

“Really?” said Harry, incredulous.

Draco offered a rueful smile. “I almost forget how prim he can be.”

“Oh, he’s getting a mean streak.”

Draco raised his brows.

“Seriously. The other night, he put the dish towels in the cutlery drawer and vice versa. I could almost swear it was on purpose. I’m keeping an eye on that one.”

Draco returned his attention to the video.

“Off to find my other progeny,” said Harry, grabbing a dinner roll.

“Try the third flood corridor. Molly loves to shove him into that suit of armor on the landing. I think the fit is just right.”

Harry squeezed Draco’s thigh with his free hand, causing Draco to look up. “I’ll see you tonight,” murmured the auror, his lip curling in a leer.

Cheeks reddening, Draco returned his attention to the mobile.

Satisfied, Harry got up and left.

*

“And this here is a baby erumpent,” said Bill Weasley, gesturing to the pink-skinned, pig-sized, lumpy-rhinoceros-looking creature presently plopped on the grass beside the hut.

The Care of Magical Creatures class looked on, Ravenclaws furiously taking notes as Hufflepuffs quavered in fear. The erumpent yawned benignly.

“Their meat is considered a delicacy in certain cultures…” Bill trailed off, his gaze becoming unfocused, and his slightly distended canines visible now. Bill licked his lips and was clearly salivating. “They’re known for being fat…quite succulent…beefy…”

The students started murmuring, but it had little to do with the potential deliciousness of the erumpent. Harry smiled sheepishly. “Sorry Bill,” he said, his arm slung about Teddy Lupin’s shoulders. He ruffled the teenager’s hair as Teddy gave an embarrassed smile, his hair turning from navy to black in that unconscious way it tended to when his emotions were roused.

Bill blinked out of his reverie. “Oh, no worries, Harry. Good to see you. Class, this is Harry Potter.”

The murmurs grew in volume and excitement as the whole class turned from the erumpent to Harry.

“Harry has a good deal of experience with magical creatures, don’t you, Harry?” said Bill.

“Erm, yeah, I guess,” said Harry, somewhat bashful. “Thestrals, and hippogriffs…”

“Is it true that you can talk to snakes?” a Ravenclaw piped in.

Harry nodded.

“I heard you have experience with taming dragons.”

“You could say that. Anyway, I didn’t really mean to interrupt. Just wanted to catch my ever-elusive offspring before I have to leave again.” He gave Teddy a pat on the back.

“Teddy’s your son!?” said another Hufflepuff in surprise.

Harry blinked. _Was that a secret?_

Teddy turned pink. Like, _really_ pink. In fact, he began to match the shade of the lumpy pig thing. Harry would have been concerned if the boy wasn’t a metamorphmagus.

Teddy hastily detached himself from Harry, tripped on his own feet, and crashed to the grass with no dignity whatsoever. Harry released a low whistle and subtly backed away. _Still clumsy, then._

As Harry edged off, Teddy was surrounded by his classmates. Before Harry fled, he threw one more concerned glance towards his son to see him being swallowed and potentially trampled by an enamored crowd of sixth years.

*

That evening, Harry paced Draco’s quarters.

“I _told_ you,” Draco intoned. He cursed as he stubbed his toe on Harry’s briefcase.

“I didn't know it was a secret,” said Harry, still rather perturbed that Teddy had hidden his association to him.

Draco rolled his eyes.

“And I still haven't caught Molly,” said Harry, increasingly troubled.

“Hiding from you no doubt.”

Harry glared. “How can you be so nonchalant about this?”

“I'm sorry.” Draco sighed as he leaned against his desk. “I take for granted that they're always around.” There was a knock on the door. “Speaking of which…”

As Draco walked off, Harry began to pull off one of his shoes. Suddenly there was a streak of blonde and a shriek of “Dad!” and Harry was being tackled. He crashed to the floor beneath a skinny blonde girl who adhered herself to his chest.

“Molly,” Harry wheezed. Draco stood over them, smirking.

Molly pulled back to appraise Harry, her emerald eyes as bright as ever, and her knee digging into his left kidney.

But it was worth it.

Molly grinned and pushed up her glasses. “I missed you.”

Harry sat up. “Missed you too.” He pulled her into a bear hug.

“How's Sirius?” Molly asked.

“Righteous as ever. Let me look at you.” Harry got up and held Molly at arms length to examine her.

At thirteen, she was still small and disheveled as ever. Her hair was long and windblown, several strands hanging in her face. As usual she adorned round spectacles and her sloppily-done Slytherin tie. Beyond her perpetually-rumpled appearance, she was a startling pretty girl.

“Still bullying your older brother?” Harry quipped.

“Oh dad!” Molly gave him a playful punch that was quite painful. Harry staggered back, clutching his side. “You know Teddy starts it!”

Harry had never seen the metamorphmagus start a fight in his life. “That's not what I’ve heard.”

Molly spun and gave Draco a suspicious look. Draco held up his hands in innocent capitulation.

“How are your grades?” said Harry.

Molly turned back around. “Did you ask Teddy how _his_ grades were?”

“‘Course,” Harry lied. Teddy was consistently top of his class.

Molly hugged his side. “I like Defense.”

“It's her best subject,” Draco supplied. “Potions as well.”

Harry’s chest swelled with pride.

“Divination, she hadn't much patience for. Picked up Arithmancy instead,” Draco continued. He and Harry exchanged a quick glance.

“It made no sense,” Molly moaned.

“And she can use some work in Muggle Studies.”

Harry snorted. The irony.

Bright eyes peeked up at him. "Professor Goyle is off his rockers."

“That he is, dear,” Harry agreed.

“When will I see you again?” Molly wanted to know.

“Christmas I suppose.”

Molly squeezed him tighter, Harry wincing as his ribs creaked from the pressure. He had no clue how such a small girl could be so violent, even in her acts of affection.

“Molly, it's almost curfew,” said Draco.

“Noooo!” Molly moaned in protest. Harry “eeped” as he was hugged yet tighter.

“I'm serious,” Draco snapped, going from mild to in abrasive in an almost routine way.

Molly huffed, and spent a few more seconds attached to Harry, breathing his essence, like she wanted to suck his youth or something. Finally, she pulled away, looking sulky. “Bye dad,” she mumbled.

“Not for long.” Harry smoothed back her hair.

Biting her lip, Molly turned and stalked off. She ignored Draco as she left the quarters, and slammed the door shut behind her.

Draco leaned against the opposite wall, crossing his arms and wearing a lazy smile. "She's a bit theatrical."

“Wonder where she gets it.”

Draco rolled his eyes. "It’s my turn to miss you," he noted.

Harry wet his lips. “But of course.” His eyes darkened. “We have till morning.”

“Better make use of it.”

Harry inhaled deeply and appraised Draco for a moment. He walked over, cornering his spouse at the opposite wall. He uncrossed Draco’s arms, to place Draco’s hands on his ass. Draco snorted, and Harry kissed him, pressing him harder against the wall, and abusing his lips with kiss after kiss.

Draco reached up to Harry’s hair, withdrawing the auror’s wand from behind his ear. “Nox,” he whispered.

_The End_


End file.
